Wayward Travelers
by child-dragon
Summary: Mordecai has been running for a long time and is ready to stop. His destination is Pandora, beyond the reach of those hunting him. In order to reach this safety, he must first endure a long and boring journey in a passenger freight starship. But when the monotony is broken by murder, Mordecai finds himself in the middle of it - risking exposure of his own identity in the process.
1. Hiding

_Author's Note: I said I was done, didn't I? Yeah. I've started in on the DLCs and that's renewed my love for Mordecai. So here's a (hopefully) shorter series staring just Mordecai, before he reached Pandora. But seriously, go check out my fictionpress account. I'm fainting-goat over there._

* * *

The upshot to large transport freights was that questions were not asked for anyone below a certain class of passenger. This meant that someone with a ridiculously high bounty on their head could go unnoticed, quietly slipping into the blur of humanity until the massive starship reached its destination, many planets away from whatever trouble it was that led to flight in the first place. For Mordecai, there were few places left he could run to. Those hunting him had holds everywhere and where their enterprises were, so were their agents. He'd killed one of them, on the last planet, a rain-drenched mud-hole where a chance encounter in a bar had led to him being recognized. The man had followed him out into the street and Mordecai, drunk to the point of blindness, had found himself pinned up against a wall, an arm across his throat, cutting off his oxygen. His numb fingers had closed around the hilt of a knife, he'd stabbed desperately, for black had stolen over his vision and he could only see the rain and the shadow of the face of the man that held him there, and he thought his hand met some sort of resistance before he blacked out. When he came to, hours later, he was laying on his side in a river of rainwater with Bloodwing tearing at the corpse. He couldn't tell if had been the bird or his knife that had killed the man. Regardless, that was the last sign that Mordecai needed to get gone – and fast. He'd signed up on the next transport out and the collar of his leather vest had hidden the bruises across his neck.

The downside to large transports was that for a low enough class of passenger, there were shared quarters. Four to a room, two bunks along each wall. Mordecai had claimed one of the two top bunks early. There was something about being up high that he found reassuring. Like a vantage point. He supposed that was why he bonded so well with Bloodwing. They were alike in this regard. About the only creature he had anything in common with, really. The three other passengers he shared the room with certainly weren't of interest.

There was Terrence, a skinny young man absorbed in his Echo-casts and little else, sitting with his knees hunched up on his bunk, headphones over his ears, narrow eyes darting here and there as he poked at his tablet while he listened. Sometimes he muttered to himself, low enough that Mordecai couldn't make out the words. Then there was Aaron, a dull, square-faced man with the tired look of someone who knew his next destination wasn't going to be any better than his last. He spent most of his time elsewhere, only returning to the room to sleep when the ship went into night-cycle. And then there was Sam, a boy even younger than Terrence, likely no older than sixteen. He was awkward, nervous, and seemed to jump at every sound.

Mordecai didn't think that Sam was actually a boy. His clothing was carefully picked to hide curves and give the illusion of hard angles at the narrow shoulders and to straighten out the waistline. It was too deliberate, but Mordecai wasn't about to try and find out. Whatever reason Sam had for hiding, it was none of his business. He had something he wanted to hide as well.

Bloodwing had been smuggled on-board in his bag. As soon as he could, Mordecai had taken the bird out and released her into the ship's hold. It was just rows and rows of crates, locked into place by electromagnetic clamps, but the ceiling was high enough to give her a sense of space and the beams above were out of eyeshot so she could roost and not be disturbed. He would smuggle her food on a regular basis. Technically passengers weren't allowed in the hold, but Mordecai had his ways. He hadn't earned a bounty on his head by leading a boring life.

He'd had to abandon many of his affections to pass by unnoticed here on the ship. His goggles and mask were stowed, and his hair was no longer in its usual topknot. It was still the usual mess of braids – he had no desire to affect the straight long-haired look – but he wore it bound tight at the base of his neck, demurely out of the way. He kept his beard close trimmed, just a thin goatee and nothing more. It was unsettling to look at himself in the mirror. He didn't know when his face had grown such hard lines, when his eyes had gone so cold.

It was shortly after their jump into deep space – in which they'd spend the bulk of their journey – that Mordecai found where some of the other passengers had built themselves a still. It was surprisingly close, just one floor down from his berth, and he spent a happy evening there gambling over the latest batch of moonshine they'd just bottled. He'd started his wager with his knife and sword and after winning it back, and then some, he'd walked out with two full jugs. Someone had tried to jump him in the stairway and he'd kneed the man in the stomach, then set both bottles down and devoted both hands to defending his prize. His knuckles were split and bleeding when he was done and the man sagged against one wall, legs sprawled senselessly before him, blood drooling from his swollen lips. When he turned around to reclaim his moonshine, he found Sam standing over it, eyes wide, speechless.

"What?" Mordecai demanded.

"I – nothing," the boy stammered hastily, "I just... was going back to our cabin."

"Then you can carry these for me. In case some other pendejo decides to jump me for it."

The boy was quick to comply. He hoisted a jug in each hand and followed Mordecai up the stairs, eying the semi-conscious man as they passed. Mordecai chuckled darkly at that. He'd done a good job on the son of a bitch. There would be broken bones, surely, and the sniper was certain he'd dislocated one shoulder. Sam didn't speak for the rest of the walk back to their room and did not speak even when the door was shut behind the two. Both Aaron and Terrence were elsewhere, mercifully. Mordecai let out a sigh of contentment and unhooked his sword and slung the sheath and strap over a peg near the door, then hoisted himself up onto the bunk, eschewing the ladder. Sam handed up one of the jugs without being prompted and set the other at the base of the bed. Then he climbed into his own bunk. He had taken the one above Terrence. Mordecai had thought the two would be the first to bond of the four, but so far the two young men had remained to themselves, Terrence in his own world, Sam wrapped up in his nervous uncertainty.

"So, what is that?" Sam finally asked.

Mordecai was uncorking the jug and took a swig before replying. The taste was foul, but it burned like it was supposed to, all the way down his throat and it settled in his stomach comfortably, like a hot stone.

"Moonshine. You ever had any?"

Sam shook his head. Mordecai just raised both eyebrows at the boy.

"Seriously? What rock you born under?"

And Sam just seemed to shrink in himself. With a sigh, the sniper held out the jug over the space between the two, and Sam balanced precariously at the edge of his bunk to reach over and take this. He took one tentative sip, coughed, and made to hand the jug back. Mordecai waved it off.

"Nah, try it again until it stops hurting," the sniper replied, "I won two jugs here and I can only drink one without killing myself. Maybe not even one. This shit will vanish the moment I go to sleep."

"What?"

"Aaron or Terrence will steal it," Mordecai said emotionlessly, "At least, that's what I'd do."

Sam didn't take the invitation as a moment to bond and share and talk about their lives and what had brought them here, and Mordecai was grateful for that. For the most, part, they just drank, Sam interrupted by coughing every other drink, and Mordecai sometimes interjected with stories of his mostly legal exploits. It was mostly his early days, when he was still optimistic, and found work without questioning much of what was happening behind the scenes. Legal work that required guns. Then it'd turned dark – he fell silent as he started to realize the only stories he had were along that line – when he'd realized there was no such thing as honest work. That working for someone else only meant it was easier for them to find and kill you once they were done and needed their workforce silenced. That was when he'd decided the only person he'd answer to was himself – and he'd taken Bloodwing – killed a lot of people in the process, and had been running ever since. It was a better life, he told himself. A freer one. He took what he wanted. He silenced his conscience, for the only thing it had done for him was almost get him killed. And he'd lived – dancing along that knife edge, laughing and trusting only in the red crosshair of his rifle. But here, trapped in the belly of a ship bound for some hellhole in a remote part of the universe, he didn't feel so free. He just felt – tired.

Terrence returned to the room right around the point Sam had drunk far too much of the moonshine. The young man gave his bunkmate a narrow glance, then looked over at Mordecai.

"What?" the sniper said, "Not my fault."

"Mordecai won this," Sam giggled, hanging half over the bunk and waving the bottle at Terrence, "Sharin' it."

Sam's voice wasn't pitched nearly as low as before and Mordecai shook his head with a soft sigh.

"That's great," Terrence replied. He never looked happy, Mordecai thought. Not even when he was wrapped up in his Echo-casts. "I think you should share it with me, okay?"

And the man deftly hooked the bottle out of Sam's grasp and folded into his bunk with it, inspecting the remains of what was left. Sam went to grab at it, missed, and ponderously rolled from the top bunk and landed hard on his side. There was a whimper and Sam didn't move. Then -

"I think I'm gonna be sick," the boy whispered.

"Fuck," Mordecai muttered, "Fine. I got this."

He slid from his bunk and landed deftly on his feet. Years of drinking had made him agile even while inebriated. He stooped at the boy's side, put an arm around his stomach and hauled him to his feet. Then, pulling the boy's arm over his shoulders, he half-carried him from the room. Sam was a ghastly shade of white and seemed oblivious to what was happening to him. For all he knew, Mordecai could be dragging him to his death, and he'd not fight it a bit. So young and so stupid. The bath was at the end of the hall, and the two made it there almost without incident. Sam nearly fell at one point, and Mordecai's grip slid up from around his side to his chest, just under the arm, and his fingers pressed in tight against the layered shirt he wore. Underneath there was soft skin, more than he'd expected, and he grunted as he shifted his grip a bit more to get a better feel for what was there. His hands pressed against something very familiar and Sam didn't even seem to notice.

"I'll be damned," Mordecai whispered.

So his suspicions were correct. Sam was actually a Samantha. And judging by the handful he held, more like early twenties, perhaps verging on mid-twenties if she were simply small-chested. Seeing as how easily she'd managed to change up her appearance to resemble a young boy, it was likely she wasn't very feminine to start with.

It wasn't like it mattered much. Perhaps she identified as male. Or perhaps – and this was more likely, considering the woman's constant nervousness – she was trying to hide and thought this would make her searchers have a harder time finding her.

"Here you are," Mordecai said, dropping the girl unceremoniously in front of one of the stalls, "Don't come back to the room until you're done throwing up. And drink some water."

He paused.

"I'll, uh, check back in an hour to make sure you haven't passed out."

This wasn't his responsibility. He cursed himself in an undertone as he left her there in a heap, stalking back to his room, his long legs carrying him quickly down the hallway. Not his business, not his responsibility. It was no matter to him if Sam was disguised as a boy and if she couldn't drink moonshine worth shit. When he swung himself back on the bunk, he was keenly aware that Terrence was watching him, those narrow eyes too bright and sharp for Mordecai's liking.

"What?" the sniper snapped, glaring at him.

"Nothing," Terrence replied, turning his attention back to the tablet.

"How many more days does this flight last?"

"Another week and a half."

Terrence rarely had any inflection in his voice. He was either anti-social or very dull. Either suited Mordecai fine.

"Too damn long," Mordecai muttered.

He picked up the jug of moonshine again. There was still plenty left to pass the time with.


	2. Discovery

_Author's note: Pro-tip - don't start a new fanfic right before going on vacation._

* * *

Much to Mordecai's displeasure, Sam took the events of the previous day as an indication that Mordecai was now her friend. Not only a friend, but someone she could trust. He wasn't sure what he'd done to deserve such an affliction, as it was ultimately his doing that had led to her being sick in the bathroom in the first place. But apparently the only parts she chose to remember was him walking her down there, then him checking back in an hour to make sure she wasn't dying of alcohol poisoning. As it was, she was only just very sick, nothing some water and sleep wouldn't cure. And, also to his displeasure, she seemed able to bounce back from a hangover quicker than him. Mordecai convinced himself it was only because she had far less to drink than he had.

"So they're holding a football game down in the hangar this evening," Sam said as she trailed behind Mordecai, like some sort of annoying puppy, "Crew versus passengers. Cept they can't decide if it's traditional football or the version where last man standing with the ball wins, so they think they might try some hybrid version out. I was thinking of going."

"You're going to get your arm broken if you do," Mordecai grunted, "Or maybe some ribs."

"What, no, I'm just going to watch." She paused.

"The funny thing about brawls is that they have a tendency to pull in onlookers as well."

She hurried to catch up. Now that Mordecai knew for certain, it was easier to see the woman in her. Granted, her face was sharper than most women, and she certainly had the build of a tomboy, but there were signs here and there. He was just hard-pressed to point them out other than generalities.

"Well, I can sit up on the overhang," she said.

"Sam, listen," he said, spinning and facing her. He checked both directions – the hallway was empty. "Don't take this the wrong way – I ain't your friend. But here's a piece of advice: if you get hurt in any way that requires medical attention, the staff down at the infirmary will realize you're a woman and might ask some questions about you registering for a bunk in the men's wing. And you're so damn twitchy I don't think you'd be able to talk that off without making them more curious."

"I-I'm not-" She had gone white and Mordecai saw the truth laid out in her eyes. She couldn't lie worth a damn, not confronted so directly like this.

"I groped your boobs last night," he snapped, "Kinda small, but still a nice handful. So – out with it – hiding from someone?"

She just stared at her feet. Mordecai cursed and turned away.

"Why couldn't you be mid-transition or some boring, normal shit?" he demanded, "Don't tell me anything else. I don't want to know. Go back to our room, stay there, and don't talk to anyone else for the rest of the trip, got it?"  
He started to walk away and she followed, trying to keep pace with him. Mordecai clenched his hand into a fist.

"I'm sorry," she said, no longer dropping her voice lower, "My brother was meant to take this trip but he couldn't. So he sent me in his stead under his passage."

Mordecai spun. His hands hit the girl at the shoulders, sending her staggering back until her back caught up against the wall of the hallway. Her knees were weak and Mordecai saw the fear in her eyes – true terror now – and the sudden hurt of betrayal. Was she just this naive, that she'd trust him already? Whatever had happened, she obviously wasn't prepared for any of it, and Mordecai wanted no part of it.

"Look," he said, leaning in close, looming over her. He planted a finger between her collarbones for emphasis. "I don't – care – what it is you're caught up in. We've all got stuff we're hiding from. You see Aaron or Terrence talking about it though? Or anyone else? Look around – do you see how many people on our floor alone keep to themselves and have cold narrow eyes? We're all running and we're all hiding. If you can keep your mouth shut and keep to yourself you might stand a chance. And don't you dare trust anyone – not even me. I'll sell you in a heartbeat if someone pays me enough. So just - stay quiet – and if you're lucky you won't have anyone waiting for you when we reach Pandora."

"I don't want to go to Pandora," she whispered, "I just, my brother-"

"Family ain't worth it."

He gave her one last shove, hard, and there was a crack as the back of her head hit the wall. He left her there, shaking, with her arms around her stomach. She did not try to follow.

* * *

Sam tried to make herself scarce after that, for which Mordecai was intensely grateful. It seemed she had heeded some of his advice and kept to herself, just another passenger trying to pass away the long trip. Mordecai found that he'd developed a compulsion to clean his rifle, just to feel the smooth metal underneath his fingertips. It'd been too long since he'd had an opportunity to fire the gun and it was wearing on him. He disliked being idle, especially when he couldn't expend the restlessness by the comfort of some target practice. Terrence watched him while he did this, covertly, and Mordecai wondered if he'd ever pulled himself out of his ECHO long enough to actually handle a gun.

It was three days after Mordecai's discovery of Sam's secret that things really changed, in a bad way. Mordecai wasn't entirely certain what part of the night-cycle it was when he returned from feeding Bloodwing. The bird was restless, unhappy with being trapped in the cargo bay with no sky overhead. Mordecai knew how the bird must feel. He was looking forwards to Pandora, despite the stories of rampant violence he'd heard. That was actually part of the appeal, he had to admit. That, and the Vault - riches, fame, and hopefully an escape from the bounty hanging over his head. It felt especially heavy today, weighing down on his shoulders like the cross-hair of a gun. He couldn't help but wonder how it had gotten to this – at what point his life had diverged and he'd thrown himself down this path. Perhaps he was just born wicked. He hadn't been bluffing when he said he'd sell Sam for the right price. That's just how it was in this world. He'd be surprised if she didn't sell him, if she knew who he was and how much he was worth.

There was a puddle on the floor just inside the entrance to his room. The lights were out and Mordecai cursed as he heard the splash of his boots in the liquid. Then he froze, as while his eyes had not yet adjusted, he knew the smell. Copper, somehow sweet, and it filled his nose and lungs like incense. Slowly, he stepped to the side and eased the door shut behind him. No use backing out into the hallway. He'd just track his bootprints where someone would see it. His fingers closed on the knife he kept hidden in his waistband and slipped it free, holding it low by his hip, relaxing his knees into an easy stance. The room was silent. As far as he could tell, he was alone. Then, he reached over, and flipped on the lights.

Sam lay there on her side, her eyes open, in a pool of blood that almost covered the floor. Her hands were bound behind her and her shirt had been ripped free and thrown aside. There were enough marks on her to show that her death had not been an easy one. Mordecai leaned back against the wall, exhaled slowly. He'd warned her. Hadn't he? That was going to be the extent of his involvement. A warning. Nothing more.

And yet now, here she was, dead at his feet and there would be questions asked about this. The ship's security crew had little else to do but ask questions, after all, and they'd start with him, Aaron, and Terrence. If they did that, they'd ID him – properly, this time.

"Shit," Mordecai whispered to himself.

It wasn't his responsibility to protect her and now she'd gone and gotten herself killed and he was going to pay the consequences for it. The sniper moved quickly now, treading through the pool of blood to where he'd stashed his belongings. It was cooling, not quite congealed, so she hadn't been dead long. As he gathered his gear, he couldn't help but notice the precision of the cuts on her body – this was not some quick job from someone acting on impulse. The wounds weren't meant to kill, not straight away. This was professional work. They'd wanted to know something and when they had that, one bullet to the head had put an end to it. The bulkhead walls were thick enough that the neighbors wouldn't have heard anything. And where were the other two at this time? Someone had known they wouldn't be disturbed for some time, which meant that whoever did this had been watching for some time now, long enough to know the habits of everyone that shared the room. It was a disconcerting thought. How much did they know? Did they follow him to when he went to visit Bloodwing? Would they recognize the bird?

Mordecai shook his head and slung his pack over his shoulders. So many questions. This was not the time to ask them, not yet. His rifle was wrapped at the base of it, not quite concealed, but enough that people would have a reason to pretend to not notice. He checked Sam's locker next and found it had been emptied. Whoever did this was either looking for something or didn't want to leave loose ends.

"This isn't any concern of mine," he said, standing over Sam's body, "I don't owe you anything."

Then he stooped, mindful of the blood he stood in, and passed his hand over her face. Closed those stupidly innocent eyes.

"I don't even know your real name," he muttered, "but I think I'm gonna have to get to know who you were before this is over."

A pause.

"You and your brother. I told you family wasn't worth it. What the hell he get you mixed up in?"

The ship had security of its own. They weren't the average thugs on a payroll either, a ship like this would have long-term crew used to the captain and how things were run. Former mercenaries looking for quieter work, ex-military, that sort of thing. While they ignored a lot of things, a body turning up like this couldn't be overlooked, and the manner in which Sam had died would certainly spark a lot of inquiries. Bad for the ship's reputation. An opportunity for the security crew to do something interesting, to chase down a killer and enact their own ship's justice. They'd come looking for him once the body was discovered. They'd take him, Terrence, and Aaron into custody. Run their prints, their DNA signature through the database. See if it came up with any results. He couldn't speak for the other two, but he knew quite well what it'd turn up on him. The same things that had almost gotten him killed back planet-side, when one of his enemies had caught up with him. The bruises on his neck had only just faded. What they'd do with that information, Mordecai wasn't entirely certain, and didn't particularly feel like finding out. Here, on a ship, there was nowhere to run to. There was, however, ways to hide. For a time.

Long enough to find out who did kill Sam, and drop that person in the lap of the ship's security – before they found him, and found out who he was.

That was assuming he found the person responsible before they decided he was a liability and came for him. Did him in like they did Sam. He had to admit, even faced with the prospect of either being handed over to the authorities or having someone slit his throat while he slept, this had certainly made the rest of the trip a very exciting prospect.

And here he thought he'd have to wait till he got to Pandora for something interesting to happen.


End file.
